20. To Be (Patreon)

Oz stiffened. His heart raced. Sachairi noticed? Shit. With effort, he composed himself and laughed lightly. “Wherever did you get that idea? Those stupid rumors? You don’t actually believe them, do you.”

Sachairi nodded. “I do. But for good reason.” He lifted three fingers, then lowered one. “One. Ossian was a wallflower. Sudden riches change a man, but not as much as you have. Two.” He lowered another finger. “I was fortunate enough to be in Madame Saoirse’s good graces… perhaps because I lent her my Five Fist Progression, perhaps because she took pity on my poor health. I spent hours in the library, searching for a cure for what ails me. And yet, I had to introduce myself to you. Odd, no?”

“I… have a poor memory for faces,” Oz bluffed.

“But you knew the names of everyone you encountered at that party, even the ones you’ve never met before,” Sachairi countered.

Oz put his hands up. “My personality is different and I forgot you name, so I must be someone else? That’s hardly ‘good reason.’”

Sachairi waggled the last finger. “Ah. That’s because I haven’t gotten to the good one yet.”

Abruptly, he lunged, reaching for Oz’s eye. Oz jerked back. His shoulders struck the back of the metal seat, and the carriage rang. Pain jolted down his back.

He winced, rubbing his shoulders. “What the hell?”

Sachairi sat back, a smug expression on his face as though he’d proven everything. “That boy, Baltair, was something of your personal tormentor. That gesture he made, the one I replicated just now? Touch your eye, just here.” He tapped the inner corner of his eye.

Oz did the same to his left eye. A small ridge edged up from the inner part of his eye, a long-healed scar. He stiffened. I think I know where this is going.

Sachairi shrugged. “He ripped out your eye. Or rather… Ossian’s eye. Ever since, even moving too quickly toward Ossian’s face makes him flinch and cower, let alone replicating the exact gesture. Madame Saoirse gave him a new eye, which is why you didn’t notice, who- or whatever you are.”

Fuck. How the fuck was I supposed to guess Ossian had lost an eye when he has two? How was I supposed to know bullies just pull out people’s god-damned eyes in this world? Fuck!

His eyes darted to the door. We’re right outside the library. Sachairi’s sick. The second he’s distracted…

Sachairi turned, coughing heavily.

Oz jumped up and reached for the carriage’s exit flap.

Sachairi’s hand snapped out. He caught Oz’s wrist carefully, pinching it between his thumb and his forefinger. Despite the seemingly delicate hold, Oz snapped to a halt, completely pinned, his wrist burning in Sachairi’s hold. Is his hand made of iron?

“Sit, Oz. Listen to me,” Sachairi ordered, choking the words through his coughs. He released Oz’s wrist and sagged back, momentarily giving in to the coughing fit.

Oz hesitated, then sat back down. Not like I have much choice. He can catch me if he wants to.

As if reading Oz’s mind, Sachairi chuckled under his breath, the sound scattered between the last of his coughs. He sat back, propping his head on his fist, and gestured to the door with his other hand, using the moment to clear his throat and compose himself. “I promised to deliver you safely home, and I will keep that pact. If you want to leave right now, go ahead. However, I will never repeat what I’m about to say.”

Oz glanced at the door, then away. He nodded. We have the pact. I’m safe for now. “I’ll hear you out.”

“I don’t care.”

Oz blinked. “Huh?”

Sachairi gestured. “I don’t care what you are. Human, fae, demon, whatever you are, I don’t care. I never knew the old Ossian. Even if you took his life, you wouldn’t be half as evil as most mages in the city.”

He sat forward again, smiling. “I want to see the world change. And opening the library to the public sounds like change to me. As long as you continue to work for change, I will stand at your side as your staunch ally, until the day I die.”

Oz squinted at him. “You’re really okay with… whatever I might be?” I mean, I’m not a demon, but he’s saying he’d be okay with me even if I was. True, the only demons I’ve seen so far are Fenrir, maybe, and the spiders, who were basically just monsters, but if demon means half of what it does in my world, that’s a pretty extreme statement.

“Light and dark, righteous and demonic. Does being born as a demon mean you cannot work for good? Does being born as a human mean you cannot work for evil?” Sachairi asked rhetorically.

Fair enough. It’s basically my stance. I’m just surprised to hear someone from this world share my opinions. Oz nodded. “What do you get out of supporting me?”

“I get to see the world these old fuddy-duddies built get smashed to pieces. I get to see the order of things flipped on its head before I go. That’s all that I want.”

His eyes glinted, burning with a warrior’s passion. For a second, the burned-out playboy vanished, replaced by an intense heat, the fury of a man whose future had been snatched away. He gazed into Oz’s eyes, waiting.

“That’s all?” Oz asked.

“That’s all.”

Bullshit. There’s something else. Something he personally wants. Perhaps someone he wants to see dragged through the mud, or thrown into despair.

But that’s fine. I need all the help I can get. No matter what he ends up demanding… right now, the right choice is to agree. After all, without Aisling’s assistance, I would be starving to death and not have a single meridian open. No… I’d probably be dead to those spiders in that grassy realm. I still need Aisling’s assistance. For now, the answer is obvious.

“What do I get from allying with you?” Oz asked. Obviously Aisling’s continued assistance, and likely some social help as well, but what can I expect?

Sachairi spread his hands. “Aisling will continue to guide you through the lower realms of cultivation, and I will continue to invite you to the important invents in the Mages’ Quarter. We’ll be fully allied. You, and myself. Not my sect and your library, but the two of us, as fellow human…” Sachairi paused. He grinned. “Fellow beings.”

Oz nodded. He offered Sachairi his hand. “Deal.”

Sachairi shook his hand.

Oz paused. “Should we… swear a pact, or something?”

“If you want. However, I warn you. Any spell can be sensed, and once sensed, its meaning and purpose dragged out. In order for the pact to bind me into silence over your… lack of being Ossian, you would have to explicitly work such a statement into the pact. Anyone who was curious about our alliance and noticed the pact would naturally be interested in the conditions of it, whether or not they knew the rumors concerning your state of self.” Sachairi shrugged. “It’s also poor manners. Enemies might force one another to swear a pact, but new allies? It would be a slight upon both of us.”

Oz hesitated. Again, I simply don’t know enough about this world. I have to take him at his word.

Still, he sounds reasonable, and, after all, a pact binds both of us. Whatever I agreed to, I’d also be sworn to uphold, without any wiggle room. There’s value in wiggle room. After all, say I swear a pact to be Sachairi’s ally, only to be offered an allyship with someone who hates Sachairi. With a pact, I might be unable to ally with that second person, due to Sachairi considering that a violation of our pact. Without a pact, I’m free to ally with whosoever I please, without telling Sachairi or anyone about my decisions.

Ah. Yes. No, I think I’ve shaken out the true meaning of ‘bad manners.’ Ha. It was the same in my world, as well. ‘Bad manners’ is really a way to say, you’re cutting you and myself out of the benefit of going behind one another’s backs.

I’m not too fond of politics, but given the world and the position I find myself in? I need to play the game if I’m going to survive.

Oz looked up to find Sachairi watching him. A small smile crawled over the man’s lips, and Oz mirrored it with one of his own. Understood. He was waiting for me to puzzle out the true meaning of his words.

Oz nodded. “I understand.”

“Excellent.” Sachairi snapped his fingers, and the orange ring fizzled out. The sounds of the town at night surged back in, loud after the prolonged silence.

Sachairi lifted the flap and peered out the window. “Aisling, the assassins?”

“None in the immediate area. Fifteen seconds before any can enter the range to strike Oz.”

Sachairi gestured toward the door. As Oz stood, he held up his arm and tapped his wrist. “Some ice and aloe will go a long way.”

Oz glanced down. A thumb and forefinger-print were seared into the opposite sides of his flesh. He raised his brows. I didn’t even notice.

Outside the carriage, Aisling offered him a hand down. Oz took it. He set his eyes on the door to his library.

“Oz, one last thing.”

He turned back.

A small glass bottle flew through the air toward him. Instinctively, he jumped up and caught it.

Sachairi winked. “Take one of those tonight. Who knows? Something good might happen.”

Oz looked at the bottle. Four pink-and-purple swirl pills sat in the bottle. He looked back up, only to find Sachairi gone, and Aisling climbing back into the carriage. Getting the message, he ran to the library and heaved open the doors before the carriage could fully pull away. As he slipped through the doors, a dozen small darts bounced off the gold light.

The instant the doors shut behind him, a wave of relief rolled through Oz. Tension he hadn’t even known he’d been storing unwound from his muscles, his shoulders sagging, legs going weak. He sighed. It’s good to be home.

Lifting his hand, he examined the pills Sachairi had tossed him closer. He shook the bottle a little, squinting. The glossy, round pills bounced around, tinking off one another, shiny as jawbreakers and about as hard.

What the hell are these?

A quick consultation of his mental library came up empty. He pursed his lips. Nothing. It’s not a first-level pill.

That’s no surprise. Sachairi’s fifth-level.

Fifth-level…

He gazed up, up, up, at the library towering away far above him. Thousands of books weighed down on him, ponderous in their numerosity.

That’s a shit ton of books to read before I can even dream of finding out what kind of pill this is.

--

In the carriage, Sachairi watched the Mages’ Quarter roll by out the window, his head propped on his fist.

“Were you sure he’d make it to the library in those fifteen seconds?” Aisling asked.

“I have my pact. I would have acted if those assassins were going to hurt him.” He traced his fingers along the edge of the window and hummed, a small smile quirking his lips.

She glanced at him, raising a brow. “You seem pleased.”

Sachairi snorted. “Pleased indeed. I’ve confirmed several things and gained a powerful new ally. What isn’t there to be pleased about?”

“You mean Oz?” Aisling tilted her head in confusion.

“I mean the Grand Magus’ Library.” Sachairi sat up. His expression turned glum.

Aisling waited expectantly.

Loudly, Sachairi sighed. “I just hope he sees the net closing in on him before they turn these rumors into a noose.”

“What do you mean?” Aisling asked.

Sachairi put his hands together, almost in a prayer, and rested his lips against his fingertips. He stared into infinity for a moment, then sat up, clapping his hands on his knees. “I mean that we need to do more. Aisling! Tomorrow, before you go to the library, there’s somewhere very important you need to go first.”

She raised her brows.

Sachairi snapped his fingers. A ring of orange flame cut out the sound from within the carriage. It bumped along, silent to any observer despite the hurried conversation occurring inside.